


Olive Juice

by nojamhands



Category: The Durrells (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, just a tiny bit of angst though, post-circus sadness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-11
Updated: 2019-11-11
Packaged: 2021-01-27 13:49:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21393214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nojamhands/pseuds/nojamhands
Summary: After the circus, Louisa receives a few odd gifts
Relationships: Louisa Durrell/Spiros Halikiopoulos
Comments: 8
Kudos: 19





	Olive Juice

**Author's Note:**

> Very silly but fun I think :) for some reason, I remembered this from when I was a kid and thought, “Hey! Olives! Greece! Nice.”  
Also I typed this on mobile so please excuse any glaring errors. I hope to fix them in the morning/afternoon tomorrow.

“While I am still married, I can’t say, ‘I love you.’ But please imagine me saying it.”

“I have. Many times.”

Louisa thought she might disintegrate on the spot from the intensity and heat of his gaze. Even days later, despite all the heartbreak that followed, she found herself getting overly warm when she remembered this interaction. 

But this was always followed shortly by her stomach feeling hollow and her heart feeling heavy. How did she manage to get her greatest wish and experience her greatest fear within 24 hours of one another? Whose luck was truly that rotten? She had been fighting and fighting and denying and denying any notion or talk of romance between her and Spiros for many years. Then the moment she allowed herself to hope....it was snatched away.

It had only been a few days since Spiros had told her of his wife’s return, so Louisa thought it was reasonable to still be mourning the loss of their....almost. But was it reasonable to mourn the loss of something that wasn’t whole? Something that was a not quite, nearly there, this far and no further?

Whatever it was, it was gone. And Louisa felt miserable over it.

It was horribly unfair, too, that she was stuck in a home where every inch had been touched by Spiros. Every room she entered, remnants of him lingered there. He took up the whole house somehow without having stepped foot in it for days. Meanwhile he was at his own home, a place she had barely known, where he could easily escape any reminders of her.

Louisa was so lost in thought she kicked over a small bottle in the doorway.

“Oh, Christ,” she swore, bending over to retrieve the bottle. When she picked it up, she noticed peculiar writing on a slip of paper attached to the neck by a string.

_To na íme mazí su íne to agapiméno mu méros._

“What on earth...?” she muttered to herself, pocketing the paper. Curious about the bottle’s contents, she popped the cork and gave it a small sniff.

She let out a cough. “Good heavens! That’s quite...potent.”

“What’s potent?” Larry asked as he strolled up to the house.

Louisa lifted the bottle for him to see.

“What is it?” he asked, taking the bottle in his own hands and examining it closer.

“I don’t know. It’s got a strong vinegar smell. So some kind of brine, perhaps? But why would someone leave brine on the doorstep?”

Larry put the bottle directly under his nostrils and inhaled. “I think it’s olive juice.”

His mother gave him a quizzical look. “Olive juice?”

Larry modded. “Yes, olive juice. It is like a brine, as it’s water and vinegar based, but it’s made from olives, like olive oil. It’s used for flavoring in dishes. It can also be drunk by itself as well. Or as a preservative.”

“Who on earth would send us olive juice?”

Larry shrugged. “Don’t ask me. The only olive man I ever knew was Hugh and he’s long gone.”

Louisa thought of the message written in Greek she had found with the bottle. Could Hugh be back and sending her notes?

“Well as long as it’s edible, who are we to question the kindness of a stranger?” Louisa said. “Come on, let’s try our hand at some olive juice cooking.”

Larry groaned but followed his mother inside.

* * *

When Louisa went to take her tea outside the next morning, she found another bottle of olive juice sitting in the doorway with another note attached.

_An éprepe na zíso ti zoí mu xaná, tha se évriska norítera._

She slipped this note into her apron and returned to the kitchen with her new olive juice.

This became her routine for the next few weeks. Almost every morning she would find a new bottle of olive juice outside the door with a note attached. On the days there was no juice, she would look at all the messages and try to figure them out.

Her spoken Greek has improved somewhat, but her reading skills were still very poor, and she dared not ask her children for assistance.

Some words she recognized, but they were the very basics like, “you” or “the.” Not much help in terms of deciphering a foreign language.

As she made her way to Corfu town one morning, she thought to ask Florence. But she still couldn’t bear the sympathetic look in her friend’s eyes each time they spoke. And her next Greek interpreter was...

“Spiros?”

He was in the market.

Alone.

Despite her words coming out barely above a whisper, Spiros turned, like he had sensed her there.

His facial journey was a sight to behold, quickly moving from joy to sadness to shame before settling on a polite smile.

“_Kalimera_, Mrs. Durrells.”

After hearing him call her Louisa, the name he had called her for years felt like a slap in the face.

She gave her own forced smile. “_Kalimera_, Spiros.”

They both stood awkwardly for a moment, unsure what to say next.

Louisa broke the silence first. “It’s nice to see you,” she said quietly.

“And you as well.”

She hated this. They were acting like strangers. Not like the good friends they had become over the years. Not like people who...almost.

“I must go,” Spiros mumbled, stepping away from her.

She grabbed his wrist without thinking. “Please. Don’t run away.”

Spiros shook his head. “I must.”

Louisa saw the pain in his eyes and let him go.

_He probably needs to check in with his wife_, she thought sadly.

Her heartbreak over their not quite was troublesome, yes, but the thought of never having Spiros in her life again in any capacity was much, much worse. She needed to find a way to make things alright between them.

She took the long way home to come up with a plan. When she arrived, another bottle of olive juice was sitting in the doorway.

_Ótan se kitázo, vlépo to ipólipo tis zoís mu brostá apó ta mátia mu._

“What in god’s name am I supposed to do with this many bottles of olive juice?!” she exclaimed in frustration. She picked up the bottle and stomped into the house, tossing the juice onto the table and began looking for her recipe book.

“I’m going to find something to use all this bloody damn juice with!” she shouted to the empty room.

As she poured over her recipe cards, she mumbled quietly to herself “olive juice, olive juice, olive juice,” over and over.

“Mother? Why are you muttering, ‘I love you’ to your recipe cards?” Leslie asked when he entered the kitchen.

“Don’t be absurd. I’m saying ‘olive juice.’”

“Oh. Well from where I was standing, it looked a lot like, ‘I love you.’ How odd!”

She was still muttering to herself and pulling out recipes when Gerry and Theo arrived.

“Why are you telling your recipes you love them?” Gerry inquired as he sat his things outside the kitchen door.

“Oh for heaven’s sake! I’m saying ‘olive juice!’”

“It does look rather similar, Mrs. Durrell. In his defense,” Theo chimed in.

Suddenly Louisa had an idea. “Theo, would you mind translating some things for me?” He did not look at her with pity eyes.

“Of course. What can I do?”

Louisa fetched the other notes and fished the latest one out of her pocket. “These have been attached to me olive juice bottles. Can you tell me what they say?”

Theo gave her a nod. “Certainly. This should only take a few minutes. May I borrow your lounge?”

“Yes, of course. Larry should have some extra paper lying around in a desk somewhere.”

Louisa returned to her work while Gerry went upstairs and Theo began working on her translations.

She began muttering, “olive juice” once more, then shook her head at the idea that it seemed like she was saying, “I love you.”

“Just ridiculous,” she uttered aloud as she finished pulling out recipes.

But it was rather odd, wasn’t it, that three different people thought the same thing?

She paused after she stowed her recipes away. She mouthed, “olive juice,” then, “I love you.”

They did feel eerily similar.

But surely it was just a coincidence.

“Olive juice,” she whispered.

“Who are you whispering to?”

Margo walked into the kitchen, Zoltan in tow.

“No one, darling.”

“Were you saying, ‘olive juice’?”

“Yes! Thank you. Everyone else who has come in today has thought I was saying, ‘I love you.’”

Margo chuckled. “Of course they did. ‘Olive juice’ is what you say when you want to to look like you’re saying I love you. Or if you want to say it but you can’t for some reason. Zoltan and I do it all the time. It’s quite fun.”

Louisa felt like cold water had been doused over her head.

_While I am still married, I can’t say, ‘I love you.’ But please imagine me saying it._

“Ahem, Mrs. Durrell?” Theo walked shyly into the room. “I have finished your translations. I, ah....” he blushed as he handed them to her. “It seems you may have a secret admirer.”

Louisa looked at the translations, the first two and the latest catching her eye.

_Together with you is my favorite place to be._

_If I were to live my life again, I’d find you sooner._

_When I look at you, I see the rest of my life in front of my eyes._

But it couldn’t be. She had just seen him in the market and he...

Louisa was walking out of the house, papers and bottle in hand, and was part way down the road before she realized what she was doing.

She continued to walk a familiar path to a familiar place, mind racing and heart thrumming.

How could this be possible?

When she reached their special place, she was not surprised to see him there.

He turned when he heard the sound of feet on the gravel. When he saw her, he gave her a small smile.

She stopped where she was and his smile waned.

“Olive juice,” she mouthed, holding up her bottle and papers.

His smile returned in full force. “Olive juice,” he mouthed back.

_It does look quite like “I love you,”_ she thought, closing the distance between them.

“I didn’t know,” she whispered as he pulled her close. “My Greek is terrible.”

“I should have thought...when you did not find me or reply I thought....” Spiros swallowed the lump in his throat.

Louisa shook her head. “No. Never.”

They stood there holding each other for quite some time.

Louisa had to muster up the courage to ask. “Your wife?”

“She is still here, but we are...separating. Permanently.”

Louisa took in a sharp breath and Spiros pulled her close again, touching his forehead to hers.

“So you are still married?” she asked.

“Yes,” he confirmed. “But not for much longer.”

“Well in that case.....” she paused, making sure his eyes were locked on her.

“Olive juice,” she breathed.

Spiros kissed her forehead. “Olive juice, Louisa.”


End file.
